


Flowers are for Lovers

by hopelessly_me



Category: Marvel
Genre: Bucky has obscure knowledge, Bucky is a messy painter, Clint caught the feels, Clint doesn't paint well but he tries, Clint paints, Getting to know you, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, admission of feelings, and it's definitely about flowers, bucky likes to paint, first time meeting solo, museum outing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me/pseuds/hopelessly_me
Summary: The last person Clint suspected to run into on the communal floor early into the morning was Bucky Barnes; and he certainly hadn't expected to find him painting a flower. Overtime, they made this a habit.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 17
Kudos: 121





	Flowers are for Lovers

All Clint really wanted to do was sneak down onto the communal floor, swipe the biggest jar of peanut butter he could find, cut up from apples and celery, and go to town. He had managed to get back into the Tower five hours ago undetected by his friends, and he was hoping to keep it that way. He really didn’t want to be asked what happened, if someone’s hurt, if they could get him anything- he just needed some peace and quiet and a goddamn snack without playing twenty questions. So he might have waited until he knew many of the team were either asleep or preoccupied and he took the vents down.

What he was not expecting was to climb out of the vents and be greeted with cold, calculating blue eyes fixed on him. Clint hung from the vent as long as he could before his arms gave out on him and he landed with his heavy boots still on. His hands were buzzing, his mind wheeling and wishing he had his bow, or at least something to keep his hands busy. At least if his hands were busy, his mind had something to help him focus.

He knew Bucky was in the Tower, and had been in the tower now for roughly two months. He had come home with Steve after being at S.H.I.E.L.D. for some time, but the man had made himself perfectly scarce, which was perfectly fine with Clint. Clint didn’t have any opinions or judgements on Bucky but he wasn’t comfortable knowing there was yet another assassin in the Tower, but this one being an unknown.

“Uh- hi,” Clint greeted.

Bucky stared at him a moment longer before he turned away. There was a large tarp laid out and painting supplies everywhere. Somewhere near the middle was Bucky and a canvas, and if that wasn’t the most confusing sight to see, Clint wasn’t sure what was. Tiptoeing back towards the kitchen, Clint dug around before he wanted to sob.  _ No peanut butter. How in the hell do we run out of peanut butter? I bet it was Nat. _ For a brief moment, Clint considered sneaking onto her floor and stealing hers, and maybe some of her vodka if he was feeling ballsy enough.

Instead, Clint grabbed a bowl full of carrots and ranch, figured it was good enough, and walked back out to the living room. Bucky glanced back at him again, and instead of appearing suspicious he just looked tired. Clint shrugged and shuffled his way to a large chair and curled up in it.

“Can I ask why you are painting on the communal floor at two in the morning?”

“Can I ask why you are eating carrots and ranch on the communal floor at two in the morning?”  _ Checkmate. _ Clint shrugged as he pulled one of Stark’s fancy floating screens up. “Why does it look like you got into a fight with a large blender and lost?”

Clint couldn’t help but to snort. “More like got into a fight with Edward Scissorhands and lost but that reference probably doesn’t make sense.”

“He had scissors for hands, what’s there to be confused about?” Clint rose an eyebrow at Bucky who wasn’t even looking his way. “You come back looking like that often?”

“Only when the goal is to get kidnapped, tortured, and extract intel by guys who should really know better by now. I’ve become a pro at it. Probably not something to be proud of but hell, I’ll take it.”

Bucky nodded and went quiet as he went back to working on his project. Clint turned his attention to the screen he had pulled up but he wasn’t sure he could keep up with all the missed emails. He was tired as hell but he knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy.  _ Maybe I should sneak onto Nat’s floor. She’s let me cuddle after she yells at me.  _ It wasn’t that he was supposed to be out for as long as he had been, and maybe he didn’t follow through mission orders as given, but that shouldn’t even be a surprise to anyone anymore.

Instead of focusing, he found himself watching Bucky as he worked. He looked a little scowly as we worked, his eyebrows knitted together. He also had a screen pulled up, and on it was one of those bright yellow weeds- Dandelion. Why the hell Bucky would want to draw and paint one of those, Clint didn’t really know. The background was a weird mix of mostly greens, but as he went forward, Clint started to see the highlights and the shadows and thought maybe it was supposed to be grass or something. And then in the middle was a bright yellow weed, or flower, whatever. It was wonky, definitely not done by a profession by any means but hell- Bucky probably did a lot better than Clint would have.

The best part for Clint was that Bucky was a messy painter. He had paint on his clothes, his arm, and even his face. Clint could have sworn it was like Bucky wiped the back of his arm across his forehead to smear a thick splatch of greens and yellows across. It took all his harder, sharper features and toned them down. Clint had half the mind to snap a photo, but he wasn’t sure what Bucky would do.  _ I’ll just ask FRIDAY nicely if I can screenshot the video feed. That’s not creepy at all. _ Clint wasn’t even going to share it with everyone. He mainly just wanted to share it with Steve. Ever since Bucky came back into his life, he had been stressed at trying to find ways to help him and sometimes Clint thought he could see some looks of defeat behind his eyes. This would definitely make him feel better.

“Why are you staring at me?”

“You got paint all over,” Clint answered. “Like… it’s kinda streaky swirly on your forehead. It’s, uh… sorry.” Clint looked away, trying to focus on the screen in front of him.

Quietly, Bucky got up, setting his painting off to the side before he underwent the task of cleaning his station up. Clint tried to focus on his screen and his food, but movement always caught his eye and he couldn’t help but track it. It was easier when Bucky was in the kitchen, rinsing off paint brushes and the containers, and from the looks of it himself when he entered to pick up the tarp to remove it.

Clint sighed and rubbed his face. He should just suck it up and go to sleep. What’s a nightmare or seven? Or maybe the sleep gods would be polite and do him a favor. Either way, if he was found sleeping in the chair again Steve was going to give him another speech. Or worse- Steve will tell Fury, who will tell Bobbi, who will give Clint the speech  _ with _ Steve. Now  _ that _ would be a nightmare. Clint wasn’t exactly sure who’s disappointed look would make him squirm more.

Clint heard Bucky clear his throat and he looked up. “Tell no one.” There was enough of a growl behind the words to imply the threat. If Clint was more awake and aware, he might have taken the threat much more seriously and that could have ended in a fight. As it was, Clint was tired and aching everywhere, and a fight wasn’t something he wanted. Clint simply gave him a thumbs up and went to clean his bowl out.

If Bucky wanted to keep a secret painting obsession under wraps, Clint certainly wasn’t going to be the one to share it.

Clint ran into Bucky again a week later. It was late at night, and Clint was on edge. It hadn’t been the best of days- he was mentally tapped out and everything seemed to make him flinch. He couldn’t remember a dream, nor anything that would have thrown him into a funk, but he was definitely in one. It was a day where he only participated in enough team activities where no one would actually bother him. Clint just wished Natasha was home for this one, that way he had someone around that would understand.

He found himself on the communal floor again, though he wasn’t sure why he wanted to be there. He was greeted with the image of Bucky sitting on the ground again, his paint supplies everywhere around him and staring off. His hand was stilled near the canvas and his left hand was gripping his own knee.

“Bucky?”

Bucky snapped to and whipped his head around. Clint stayed still a moment, let him get used to someone being in the same space before he moved. Bucky had dark bags under his eyes, and they looked a little bloodshot. Clint stopped nearby, unsure what to do. He hadn’t had a goal when he came down to the floor, he just needed to get out of his room, and it was raining too much to go to the rooftop. So he was stuck having an awkward staring contest with someone he barely knew.

Clint’s eyes drifted to the screen in front of Bucky. “So, today is snapdragons, huh?”

“You didn’t tell Steve.” Bucky had a splash of pink on his cheek, and then a bit of red on his nose. 

Clint finally decided to walk over and sit on the ground a few good feet away. Bucky watched his every move, which made Clint’s hairs stand up. He forced himself to push down his instinct to react and relaxed against the backing of the couch. “You told me not to tell anyone. I can respect that.”

Bucky nodded once before he looked at the screen. “Snapdragons- they are supposed to mean deception.” Clint wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with that statement. “My therapist… the S.H.I.E.L.D lady, she had them in her office. Not sure that makes me feel safe.”

“Yeah, well, therapy sucks,” Clint answered. “Maybe the whole S.H.I.E.L.D. logo should be snapdragons. Probably more fitting than a bird.”

For the first time, Bucky cracked the smallest of smiles, barely there and only for an instant. He leaned over a fraction, his head tipping to the side. “Maybe Fury would consider stitching one on his eyepatch.”

Clint couldn’t stop himself. The laughter came straight from his gut and out with a roar. He held his midsection and leaned forward. “Is there a flower for douchebags? Or… someone who is full of himself?”

“Narcissus might work the best,” Bucky answered. “Maybe wolfbane. Some might even argue sunflowers dependin’ on your interpretation.”

“How in the hell do you know these things?” Clint asked with a laugh, wiping under his eyes.

Bucky shrugged. “Don’t know, can’t remember,” he answered, something haunting in the way he said it made Clint’s smile disappear as well. He was staring off again, just like he had been when Clint first got onto the floor.

“Uh, so- are you feeling like you are being deceptive?” Clint asked out on a limb. “Or just because you saw them?”

Bucky took a deep breath before he grabbed a blank canvas and tossed it at Clint. Clint stared at it before he picked it up. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it because he wasn’t someone that painted, not like this at least. But Bucky looked stiff and if this made him relax again, then Clint was pretty sure it was worth a shot.

“Alright… so… what flower should I pick?” Clint asked.

“What are you feeling like?”

Clint had to think about it. This wasn’t exactly where he thought his night would go. The thought of being honest with Bucky left Clint feeling a bit overly cautious. “I feel tired. Cautious.”

Bucky had to think about it for a minute. “Foxglove,” he said, leaning over and split his screen with Clint and typed in what he wanted. “Lucky you… you can even make it in purple.”

“What exactly does foxglove mean?” Clint asked, picking up the paints cautiously.

“Insecurity.”

“Ouch, Bucky,” Clint snorted. “Got me pegged already. Alright, I’m game. It’s purple. Let’s get out art on.”

Bucky was silent for a bit before he looked over. “Do you ever feel like maybe you are being deceptive?”

“I’m a spy and an assassin for an organization that’s overly secretive. Deceptive feelings are almost my constant,” Clint answered.

“No I mean- with the people here,” Bucky corrected. “Like you are hiding behind a mask or something. Like you put on a big show and it’s just… a lie.”

Clint took a deep breath. “We all do that, Buck.”

“What if you do it every day?” Bucky asked softly.

Clint took his eyes off his canvas. Bucky was perfectly blank still, though there was some tension in his jaw. It was always harder to read people who were specifically trained not to show emotions. Natasha had been hard, and Bucky was proving to be as well. Clint knew at times it made it hard for others to read himself. Then the trouble was- if you could learn to not show emotions, you also could learn to school your emotions to conceal whatever the hell you wanted.

“So, uh, I’m no therapist but… it’s normal? After all the shit you’ve been through, it’s normal to not want to let people in, or give away any insecurities or whatever.” Clint waved his brush a little in the air around his canvas as he looked away. “I think sometimes it makes things easier, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

That night they didn’t talk much more. Not talking was up Clint’s alley, especially after the small conversation they had. Clint wasn’t one to talk about those feelings, and he definitely wasn’t one to talk about awkward feelings with someone he didn’t know. It was one thing with Natasha, maybe even Steve to a small degree, but it wasn’t like Clint was going to go looking for the newest Avenger on the roster to talk about his insecurities.

Clint was surprised when it was time to clean up and looked at the mess on his canvas. It sure as hell didn’t look like foxgloves or whatever the hell he was supposed to be painting, but it at least looked like something. He caught a glance of Bucky’s, which at least looked like a flower. Clint sat stunned, glancing between the two paintings.

“Thank you.” Clint blinked and looked up before he got off the tarp for Bucky to fold up. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“And admit that I painted a flower? Man, you have nothing to worry about.”

It was a weird tradition that formed from there. Every Thursday, two in the morning, Clint made it a habit to meet Bucky down for a painting session. Sometimes it seemed like Bucky would want to talk or share something, and sometimes he had a distant look that told Clint to back off. Either way, Bucky would tell Clint what the meaning of the flowers were that he was painting and would help Clint pick out what he was going to paint. 

Clint had too many canvases in his room now, all with poorly painted flowers on them that probably didn’t look anything like they were supposed to. Each one had a note on the back on what it was supposed to be. Sometimes he would pick flowers based on his mood, sometimes he picked flowers at random suggestions from Bucky. In a way, it was a calming activity because Bucky never laughed at his paintings, only complimented on his efforts. And if  _ that _ didn’t make Clint feel better about himself at the moment, then he wasn’t sure what would.

Every Thursday, Clint got to enjoy the messiness that was Bucky Barnes. Bucky never came across as messy- he was always the one to clean up after dinner and everything would be spotless. He had a habit to wear his clothing in a certain way, his hair. But at night, his hair would be a wild mess, strands falling out from a sloppily constructed bun at the top of his head. His clothes looked to be Steve’s old, worn workout clothing. Best of all was the random splashes of paint sprayed everywhere.

This Thursday, Clint had plans, which made him nervous, insecure, but he was going to suck it up and do it. There was no way he could keep coming to these art sessions without at some point spilling his heart out to Bucky. There was only so long that Clint could watch Bucky’s paint splattered face without wanting to wipe away the color smears; there was only so long he could sit there and act like that side of Bucky wasn’t driving him a little crazy. So yeah- Clint made a plan, and it likely was going to be a bad plan, but maybe not for a change.

He got onto the floor with Bucky and sat in his normal spot. Without a word, Bucky grabbed a canvas and held it over for Clint to take. “What are you in the mood for?” Bucky asked.

“About that. How would you like to get outta the Tower today and have a bros day out?”

Bucky sat up straight and looked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. I mean- you like all these flowers, right? Well, the museum in town had a ton of paintings, and I am sure there are flowers in them,” Clint explained. “Maybe we can go out, look at the photos and you can dissect them? We can get very judgey with Victorian art, which is right up my alley.”

“You aren’t on the approved list of people I can leave with,” Bucky answered.

“Lucky for you, I don’t care,” Clint said with a smirk. “Come on, live a little! If Fury or Steve gets mad, I’ll handle it. We’ll have to be sneaky though. We get caught upon leaving and Steve is going to ruin the whole day I’ve got planned.”

“You… planned a day?” Bucky asked carefully.

“Hell yeah, I planned a day. It’s our three month art anniversary,” Clint said proudly. “Or, I mean, kinda. Next week would be the three month anniversary of me joining in. But this week is the first week I watched you paint the dandelion.” Bucky’s face was perfectly blank. “Erm, too weird?” he asked.

Bucky smiled a little and looked away. “Just… odd. For you.”

“What did the dandelion mean, anyway?” Clint asked.

“Overcoming hardships,” Bucky answered. “What are you going to paint? What are you in the mood for?”

“Already picked it out, Buckaroo. I’m going with a gardenia.” Bucky gave him a startled and suspicious glance while Clint whistled as he collected his supplies. “What are you going to paint today, Bucky boy?”

“Well it was going to be rainflowers, but I think I might have to change to mint,” Bucky said. Clint reached over and poked at him a few times as he mixed his colors. “Rainflowers can mean I need to atone for my sins. Mint means I am suspicious.”

“Ah. It was one of those therapy sessions,” Clint said.

Bucky nodded, looking away. He took a deep breath and settled into the painting. “You sure going out is a good idea?”

“I think we’re going to have a great day, when we get there,” Clint answered. “You deserve time out that doesn’t involve Steve, and it doesn’t involve therapy. You need some relax time, explore the city time. And I am definitely the man for the job.”

Clint could see Bucky smiling out of the corner of his eye. “I am pretty sure you and museums don’t mix.”

Clint flipped him off, which only made Bucky chuckle. That night, they barely talked. Bucky was stuck up in his head and Clint didn’t mind. He had his own nerves to worry about. They spent an hour and a half painting and for the first time, Clint didn’t completely hate the painting he did. He leaned back and looked at Bucky’s, his painting mostly undone. Clint already started to doubt his plans, wanting to cancel them all; or at least the ones  _ after _ the museum.

“You alright, Buck?” Clint asked.

“Yeah, just… didn’t feel like painting I guess,” Bucky admitted. “Help me clean up? What time do we head out?”

“Steve has an eight o’clock meeting, he will be leaving here at half past seven. So… a quarter til?” Clint asked, starting to help with the cleanup process. He collected the paints and loaded them into the box and moved the canvases out of the way.

“I can make that happen,” Bucky agreed as he grabbed all the supplies that needed to be cleaned. “You sure you want to leave the Tower with me?”

“I can think of worse people, Bucky,” Clint promised, folding up the tarp and stuffing it into a bag. He stretched and leaned to the side. “You sure you want to go out with me? I’m not stepping on your toes or plans?”

Bucky walked back out, putting the brushes into the box carefully. “Plans- that’s cute,” he commented. “If you are sure we aren’t going to end up in S.H.I.E.L.D. prison for this, I am willing to go to a museum with you.” Clint stuffed the tarp on top of the box before Bucky closed it. “See you in a few hours then.”

“See you in a few hours. By the way- ear,” Clint pointed out before he climbed into the vents.

With a quick pace, Cint made it up to Natasha’s floor. If there was anyone who could help him pull this off, it was going to be her. Anyway, she had mentioned more than once how she thought Clint was hiding something, so he might as well come out with it. He was hoping that she wouldn’t press too much. He hid the canvas with a few of the others in a small space in the vents where Clint knocked out some paneling to create a hidden cubby hole.

With a deep breath and his nerves sky high, Clint opened the vent and dropped down. Natasha looked up from her bowl of cereal before she checked the time. “What are you doing?”

“Okay, I need your help with something and you aren’t allowed to ask a million questions.” Natasha rolled her eyes and ate more of her cereal while observing him. “I need you to call this florist and tell them to deliver all these flowers at about noon… and I kinda need you to infiltrate Bucky’s floor and just… decorate?”

Natasha set her spoon down and carefully pushed the bowl away from her. “Sit.” Clint obliged because, well, he needed the help. “Start from the beginning.”

“I cannot, I am sworn to secrecy,” Clint answered automatically. “What I can tell you is… I have major feels and I am an idiot and I need you to put flowers on Bucky's floor.”

“Details, Barton, or I will refuse.”

Clint whined. “Why can’t you just do me a solid without me having to confess everything?” He rubbed his face. “So Bucky and I have been hanging out every Thursday at two in the morning for an hour or two for the last three months.”

“Doing what?”

“That’s the secret part,” Clint answered. Natasha’s nose wrinkled up. “Not that! Can you just- just sit there, okay? Do the neutral face of murder so I can get through this.” Natasha sighed and schooled her face. “Anyway, we have been hanging out for the last three months and I have decided to catch the feels. Like… major feels. And it’s stupid but I can’t stop thinking about his stupid face and hair.” Natasha snickered and Clint glared at her until she stopped. “So I decided I am sneaking him out of the Tower today, even though I am rudely not on the approved list, and when he is gone I am having flowers delivered and I need them in his apartment.”

Natasha was silent for a moment. “You bought another man flowers?”

“Shut up, he is going to love them,” Clint answered with a confident grin.

“So if I promise not to tell anyone, including James, this secret of yours, you’ll tell me why flowers?” Natasha asked. “Because you have never bought anyone flowers for any reason.”

Clint had to think about it before he nodded. “When I first ran into Bucky solo he was on the communal floor painting a flower. And yeah, it was weird, right? Anyway, the next week I find myself on the communal floor and there he is again, painting a flower. And then he’s telling me what these flowers symbolize. And then I guess I started painting with him.”

“You are painting flowers while being told what they symbolize.” Natasha sounded almost impressed. “You are lying.”

“Today I painted a gardenia. They are supposed to symbolize a secret love or some bullshit. I don’t know, I wiki’d it like an adult.” Natasha started laughing. “Come on! You have to help me out! I wanna impress the guy and ask him out. And I figured he likes flowers so I kinda bought a shit ton of expensive flowers and yeah.”

“You put a lot of effort into this, haven’t you my hawk?” Natasha asked fondly, reaching out so that the tips of her fingers brushed his cheek.

“I have never looked up so many fuckin’ flowers in my life,” Clint admitted. “Not only that but what they mean, if they would look good together. And lord knows, flowers of different colors mean different things. I literally sat in a florist shop for two hours to figure this out last week. It’s driving me crazy. And it’s worth it because for the past three months I got to see Bucky looking different than he does around everyone else. And the stupid splotches of paint he gets on himself. I just… I really want this to go well.”

Natasha sighed and stood up. “I am going to get your coffee started and I am going to make myself tea. You are going to tell me what these flowers are, show my pictures of them, and we will figure this out.”

“Seriously? You are going to help?” Clint asked excitedly, getting up to follow her.

“I will contact Maria to let her know that I am not hacking the official list to add your name on it, that way she cannot get too mad, and I will even keep Steve busy and off your trail,” Natasha informed Clint.

“What am I going to owe you?”

“Oh, I want a flower painting of yours displayed on the communal floor, signed, and proudly displayed,” Natasha answered, waving her hand around like it was nothing. Clint groaned. “I am kidding. If you planned this out this much, then it means something to you. When I need a lifesaver, return the favor.”

“Anytime, you name it,” Clint answered. “I can’t believe I am going to do this.”

“Don’t screw this up. You screw this up after I have to be around flowers for hours, I am going to work you hard on the sparring mat.”

Right on schedule, Clint noticed Steve had left the building and he was in action. Bucky looked at him with mild amusement as he walked onto the elevator with Clint to ride down to ground level. Clint had never seen the bomber jacket before, at least not that he could remember, but he liked it on Bucky- it suited him.“You look like you are in mission mode,” Bucky commented with a hint of amusement.

“Mission- get you the hell outta here and to the museum maybe,” Clint answered.

It was a piece of cake. Clint and Bucky took the subway to the museum, which had made Bucky a little more nervous than what Clint was expecting. He tried to remember that for later so they could walk home instead. However, once they were above ground again, Bucky seemed to mellow out despite the crowds.

Clint paid their way into the museum and gave Bucky the map. Unfortunately, there was less judgement of Victorian or Renaissance era paints happening because Bucky was enthralled. They stopped at everything they could, and Bucky read everything he could, soaking it all in. Clint stood dutifully to his side, and while he was already bored within ten minutes, he had endured worse. Clint did, however, perk up more once they were in the section that housed swords and armour, and Clint nearly lost his marbles when there was an old crossbow on display.

Getting lost in the museum took up several hours of their morning and by half past noon, Clint was dragging Bucky out of the gift shop so they could grab some lunch. “Did you know they have a museum for Ellis Island now?” he asked. “My ma would lose it, Steve’s ma would have too. What if their names are somewhere?”

“Maybe we can do that one sometime,” Clint offered as they walked down the street.

“According to this pamphlet, there are almost one hundred museums in the city, over thirty in Manhattan alone,” Bucky said, reading the literature someone had handed them. “Did you know New York has a sex museum?”

“Erm, nope, that’s new knowledge,” Clint answered, trying to keep a straight face. “We’ll have to explore more museums randomly when we can sneak away from Steve and Fury.”

“Hey, how do you feel about street food?” Bucky asked suddenly before he pointed. “It’s nice out. Why not get food on the go and walk through the park?”

“Sure, but there is this cafe up here, and I need more coffee in my life,” Clint pointed out.

“I could go for a cup of joe,” Bucky mused.

After quick trips to the bathroom, the cafe for coffees and waters, and a hotdog stand, Bucky and Clint found a bench to call their own for a bit. Clint sprawled out and looked up at the sky, enjoying the sunshine. It had been awhile since he had been in Central Park. He closed his eyes and soun the coffee cup in his hands slowly.

“Hey, Clint?”

“Hm?”

“Today is about more than getting me out of the Tower, isn’t it?” Bucky asked. Clint tried to act casual, rolling his head to the side to look at Bucky. “Because if it is, you could just say it. Not go through all the trouble.”

“I don’t know what trouble you are talking about,” Clint replied. “It’s a museum, Bucky. And food. And a stroll in the greatest city park ever.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m not going to go home to something crazy, am I?”

Clint sat up and was instantly suspicious. Bucky had an uncomfortable look about him and Clint groaned. “Who told you what?”

Bucky pulled his phone out and flipped it around for Clint. Steve had sent a text along with a picture. Clint felt his face scrunch up for a minute. “I think he has flashbacks to being that sick kid who would have died around a massive amount of flowers. Which are apparently all in my apartment.”

“Okay, so, uh-”

Bucky snorted. “What did you get me and why?” he asked, slouching on the bench.

Clint sighed and slumped. “So… there are Plumerias because those symbolize… hold on, I wrote this down.” Clint pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket nervously. “Plumerias are supposed to be about the springtime, which, valid right now, and new beginnings. Like… I dunno… seemed appropriate.”

“Uh huh.”

Clint felt his face flushing. “There’s, uh, Gardenias because… uhm…”

“Secret love, or good luck,” Bucky offered.

“R-right,” Clint muttered. “Freesia ‘cause thoughtfulness and innocence.”

“Interesting pick.”

“In all fairness, I mostly got those because I thought they looked good with the other flowers,” Clint muttered. “But, I mean… I think you’re thoughtful. Or you try.” Clint kept his eyes on the list in front of him. “And, uh, the last one is clovenlip toadflax, which is a hilarious name, might I add,” he said, trying to laugh it off.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is there foxglove?”

“Twofold. First, they are purple and I am a sucker for purple,” Clint said nervously. “And because that was the first flower I painted with you. I mean, I asked for dandelions but apparently they don’t sell those. Because I thought maybe that could show-”

“Just ask me already.”

“You want me to-”

“Clint.”

“Okay.  _ Okay _ ,” Clint said, holding his hands up. “I kinda got a thing for you and I was wondering if maybe I could take you out on a date or something?”

“Or something.” He sounded far too amused at Clint’s suffering and he leaned over, like he tended to do during their painting sessions, his eyes watching the world around them. “So this wasn’t a date?” he asked, and Clint got the jitters all over again.  _ How the hell can someone talk out the side of their mouth and it be sexy? It’s gotta be the smirk. Stupid smirk. _

“No, this was to get you out of the house so I could have Natasha do the flowers so I could ask you out,” Clint clarified.

“So this doesn’t count as the first date.”

“Do… you want it to?” Clint asked.

“I kind of wouldn’t mind if it were.” Clint sat up slowly, watching Bucky. “How overkill did you go with the flowers?”

“Well, uh- depends on your definition of overkill.”

“So the answer is yes.”

“Fuck, Barnes, yes,” Clint groaned, wanting to sink down into the ground and just bury himself already. “Take pity on me. This has got to be the most-”

Bucky cut him off with a kiss, and Clint leaned into it, because hell if that wasn’t something he had wanted to do for the last month. Bucky stood up quickly and walked away. “Alright, let’s go see just how insane you are so I know what I am getting into.”

“I’m a blond with no self-preservation. Think Steve but without the super soldier serum. You are getting into a lot here,” Clint warned, picking up their trash before jogging to catch up. Bucky whistled. “But hey! You are going into it with a guy that painted flowers just to spend some solo time with you so… fair trade?”

Bucky chuckled and smiled one of those half smiles that made Clint’s heart skip a beat or three. “Fair trade,” he agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> So this insanity came from a dream I had where I was picking up flowers for someone and the florist yelled at me because "don't you know what those symbolize?" And did you know there are a million sites about this very topic, and most of them agree on flower symbolism, though some are altered. I mostly used wiki for this fic because it was easier. So next time you are going to someone's something and you don't like the person much (we all have that relative or friend by default), look up "passive aggressive flowers" because it's a treat.  
> Stay healthy, be kind. <3


End file.
